


And Hell Followed with Him

by Guntz



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Jessica Jones (TV 2015), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: (and I don't know when it gets better), Angst and Tragedy, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Everyone Has Issues, Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Freeform, Gen, Infinity War, It Gets Worse, Not A Fix-It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Supernatural Elements, Tony-centric, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-28 21:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13279956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guntz/pseuds/Guntz
Summary: A man once told Tony Stark with his dying breath to not waste his life.(it went to waste)





	1. O' Death

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Behold, the Conqueror](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137174) by [phoenix123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix123/pseuds/phoenix123). 



> I give my thanks to pheonix123 for their permission to be able to create this monster.

The first thing that registered was the numbing sensation of a mass of organic matter slowly succumbing to the biting element that was turning something stiff like stone— _oh_ , realization tickled,  _they were freezing_.

With a grunt, they shifted into a sitting position from the concrete floor where frost gathered through the open columns from behind, blinking away the ice that threatened to seal the lids close of their eyes.

Taking in the surroundings, their eyes drifted downwards to see the heavy alloy covering practically every inch of the body sealed inside before settling on the dented and ruined area of the chest. A gauntlet brushed their fingers over the chest like how the wounded would do over their scars after a battle had been fought. Their hand fell away back to the floor, ending the exploration and finally focusing on the situation at hand.

Time was ticking, the sand inside the hour glass was dwindling down, and the end was coming towards the earth from the dark depths of space.

_He_ was coming.

The large inhale of air filled their lungs until it was drawn out with a heavy sigh, but no warm fog escaped their chapped lips.

Where there was once life and warmth, there was only lifeless and cold left.

They gathered themselves to their feet, their eyes once more trailing around the empty battleground once more before turning towards the open columns of the bunker.

Tony Stark had so much work to do. 

 

 


	2. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it good for?  
> ( ~~ _absolutely nothing_~~ )

_Something was off._

_Rhodey couldn't pinpoint the cause of it, but something from deep within him screamed in alarm whenever Tony was nearby. The other man didn't talk about what happened in Siberia or the scarred chest plate of the Iron Man suit he returned with, he didn't care about the break out in the RAFT, he wasn't bothered by the threats and accusations thrown his way by Ross and his posse, and he smiled politely after Everett Ross finished his lecture of Iron Man possibly getting his ass handed to him by the Accords Committee._

_He didn't even blink when he casually strode past Pepper like she was just another person in the facility's hallway._

_Instead, Tony buried himself in the lab._

_The spider kid popped up every now and then, talking a mile per second about updates of his patrolling around Queens while Tony nodded and hummed at the right amount whilst his attention remained elsewhere. As busy as he was, Rhodey was relieved that Tony did pay attention when it came to the kid's recklessness in taking on some tech thief with vulture wings that had been making off with recovered junk Tony was transporting to the Avenger's Facility when the Tower was deemed no longer a suitable workplace for the genius._

_Tony became more isolated afterwards._

_He still smiled, still played the media like a meister in an orchestra with a flick of his wrist, and he continued to amend and rework the kinks of the Accords to something more tolerable for all parties. He traveled across nations to make nice with the countries that gradually added their names on the list of supporters, exchanging handshakes and participating in parties he was invited to from the society's elite._

_But the thing was... Tony never dropped that fake smile of his. Even in the company of his closest friends._

_The first tentative steps were the hardest. Rhodey struggled on the bars, forcing his dead legs to move forward, to reach the man standing on the other end who watched him. Sweat and exhaustion made the muscles in his arms tremble, his eyes locked on target as he urged himself to get closer and reach for the other man waiting for him._

_But then it would get too much and his dead knees would buckle, he would collapse, and he couldn't reach Tony._

_Rhodey was the one who fell out of the sky and lost his legs—so_ _why did it feel like Tony was the one who died that day?_

_Time went on without a hitch, without a pause, without hesitance even as few stumbled around the billionaire who never seemed to know when to halt. When it wasn't with the Accords, it was SI taking up Tony's time, and when it wasn't SI, it was that Parker kid who Tony left Happy to look out for in his absence, and the cycle continued to repeat. There was signs of the other faction, the Rogues as most were calling them, crossing through borders and helping whoever when disaster struck but were quick to disappear when authorities were on their trail. Rhodey knew that Tony knew where they were hiding, but he said nothing._

_Because despite the fingers pointed at his best friend, Rhodey saw who the real monsters were. He was ashamed of himself for not doing enough, for not talking to Tony, for not telling his best friend that he didn't have to prove to these people who were only using him for his resources and influence._

_Thankfully, Tony wasn't left to wallow himself in guilt and despair after the Split. It worried him and everyone at first, waiting for the proverbial bomb to blow as the man would spiral into alcohol dependency and what-not, but none came. Instead, it seemed like his best friend had washed his hands with the blood and dirt he was left behind in and moved on to do more important things more beneficial for the UN, the United States, and the remaining Avengers._

_Wherever Steve Rogers and the others were, they could stay there._

_Tony didn't need them._

_(But the screaming voice from within Rhodey never stopped.)_

* * *

**GREENPOINT, NEW YORK**

The sound of power tools and concrete being plowed and destroyed echoed inside the skeletal building.

The only thing that could break through the noise, the cacophony of voices that blurred together, was the impact of the sledgehammer slowly destroying the surface of a thick wall of concrete. A task like this was usually made for several guys, but he wanted this for himself. His hands were covered in blisters, bleeding with every hit he threw, watching the wall chip and crumble away from the force he hammered it through. The stinging from the palm of his hands burned, but the pain only made him continue to hit harder and harder, watch the entire thing gradually fall apart from his strength alone.

Pain was a distraction.

Pete Castiglione wanted a distraction.

Frank Castle was a nobody with no Kitchen Irish, Dogs of Hell bikers, or Mexican Cartel to punish.

The deed was done; his family was avenged. Hell's Kitchen's underbelly quaked in fear, the ghost story of the Punisher hiding under their beds and closets with a loaded submachine ready to fill their bodies full of lead.

But that was all Pete Castiglione was—a shadow.

Or rather, a gimp as several of the workers assumed him to be simply because he wouldn't give them the time of his day.

It was like being back in high school again, facing a bunch of dumbass kids in the hallways that were picking a fight with the quiet loner that sat alone rather than hung out with the typical cliques. But unlike his time in high school where he didn't care if he was called to the principal's office after breaking a few noses and fingers, or getting threatened with suspension and ignoring his parents' lectures at home like Frank Castle did in his youth, Pete Castiglione didn't return the favor.

There was no reason to go after these assholes; they were mostly harmless with their name calling, kicking his lunchbox around, and throwing small pebbles at the back of his hard hat. He only concentrated on the wall in front of him, continued to hammer through it like a desperate person behind the Berlin Wall.

There was nothing.

"Now, I wouldn't say that," a new voice quipped from directly behind him. "If you'd like, I got plenty of work for you to do, _Castle_."

The handle of the sledgehammer almost slipped out of his grip because of how startled he was, his momentum off course and ruining the control of the rhythmic impacts he created. The blood from his hands only made it easier for the sledgehammer to slip and fall from his hands, landing clumsily on the floor.

Someone called him by his  _real name_.

(There was a disc hidden inside the frame of a picture. MICRO written on the surface. Someone was looking for Frank Castle.)

Someone found him.

Frank didn't know what he would do should he confront "Micro" after having watch himself execute a man during the operation in Kandahar. What exactly did this man want from him that he was suddenly tracked down at his workplace despite growing out his hair, beard, and no longer going out to kill gangbangers and filthy scum that flooded the streets of New York. Apparently it didn't matter because somebody literally snuck up from behind him and exposed him for who he truly was.

Hands folding into fists, he turned towards the source.

And came face-to-face with a billionaire who flew around in a goddamn tin can suit shooting laser beams out of his hands and ass.

"What the fuck...?" Frank muttered from behind his beard, dark eyes focused on Tony Stark who was sitting on a random column left lying around, serving as a bench to sit on while Frank ate his PB&J sandwiches during lunch break.

Stark scoped the area from behind his expensive shades.

"Nice job you're doing here, Castle. I hear they're renovating this place into a hotel."

Frank's eyes shot to the other workers, all of them too busy to notice one of the famously known fucking Avengers making himself comfy in their presence, looking all clean and pristine with his black leather jacket, dark jeans, and groomed goatee. He looked for any other signs that he was surrounded by other members, or whatever remained after that clusterfuck he heard about going down in Germany. Jesus Christ, he hoped this floozy punk wasn't trying to recruit him into joining his stupid superhero band because that kind of sounded way up Red's alley.

(Too bad the poor bastard wasn't around to see this. He'd probably bust a gut from laughing.)

"Oh no," Stark flicked a hand like he was pushing away an invisible object that was too close to his pretty face, smiling at Frank like they were friends. "This isn't a recruitment gig. Besides, you're not all that extraordinary with your skills."

Either Stark didn't notice, or simply didn't care, but he would have been nothing but a pile of goo had Frank been gifted with the ability to glare at people into an early grave.

"Anybody could pick up a gun and go around shooting people, Castle. All you have to do is watch the news, listen to the radio, read off the front page of a newspaper to know how some guy shot at a crowd during a concert in Las Vegas, or someone going inside a church and opening fire upon a group of worshipers."

" _Don't_." Frank growled lowly, glaring at the other with a warning tone because he didn't give a shit about breaking some billionaire superhero's jaw. "Don't you compare me and the filth I kill to those bastards and the innocent victims."

"Oh? I can't seem to see the difference between you all." Stark was grinning now, all teeth bared like he was a shark about to take a chunk out of him. " _They_ kill people; _you_ kill people; _people_ kill _people_. Whatever their intentions, people still die."

What the fuck even...? Frank scowled heavily at the other man because he refused to explain himself to some holier-than-thou little rich fuck. Before he could demand anything, or rather grab Stark by the lapels and shake the smaller man around like a rag doll, there was a surprised holler. Looking over to the side, a couple of men finally took notice of Stark's appearance and were beginning to approach them, probably looking to grab a selfie with the billionaire.

"Well then," Stark sighed as he pulled back a leather sleeve to check on a watch strapped around his wrist. "Better make this quick. I only got five to six minutes."

"For what?" Frank asked suspiciously, warily eyeing the other man.

"Before everyone here becomes completely brain dead." Stark answered as he gave another wave with his hand.

It was like everyone in the building had been wearings strings that kept their bodies upright but then collapsed when something cut said strings. Puppets left to lie in huddled heaps, like bodies falling after a one shot kill to the head without the accompanied explosions of red where blood flew when the bullet zoomed through the flesh, muscle, and bones.

And Frank suddenly found himself the only man standing besides Stark.

"Okay, let's get this talking done with. I'm on a tight schedule as it is." Stark stood up from his spot, dusting his pants.

"What did you do?" Frank demanded, still looking frantically around. "What the _fuck_ did you do to them?!"

"I killed them."

There was a stunned pause, wide eyes staring at the billionaire.

"Don't worry," Stark said as he gestured to the nearest body (the new kid who followed those assholes around, Donny Chavez). "Their body is in the process of dying. They'll only actually be full on dead when their brain cells cease functioning."

Stark tapped his watch.

"We only have less than five minutes before these guys stay dead."

" _What the fuck is the matter with you_?!" Frank roared, pushing himself forward towards Stark. "You're Iron Man! You don't—!"

(One vigilante lecturing a murderer. Are you laughing up there, Red?)

"Yes, I believe the media and public have established that Tony Stark is Iron Man. Thank you for stating the obvious." Stark flippantly commented, not at all bothered of what he had admitted doing.

The pain in his hands, empty and aching, finally found something new to grab and choke in its hold.

Frank lunged at Stark.

And was promptly thrown over the smaller man's shoulder and onto the ground where he found himself lying flat on his back with a throbbing sensation coming from behind his head. Ignoring the dizziness, Frank shot back to his feet and attacked Stark once more with fury and fervor, fists and feet punching and kicking to make the other man stumble back. But with every swing, he was met with an expert dodge and twist. Frank's assault did nothing to deter the other man, the gap between them so wide even a Daredevil wouldn't be able to get to the other side. And then it hit him.

He was fighting a fucking  _Avenger_ , and losing.

The tabloids can throw in the latest gossip, the public media can say whatever shit they like, the people can even roll their eyes and move on, because the truth was Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, was more unbelievable in real life than he was in fiction.

An uppercut from Stark made Frank cut his mouth and let the blood fly heavenward. Stumbling backwards, his body slammed into a nearby support beam to keep him from falling back on his ass.

Stark was still standing there, untouched and clothes unruffled.

"That's almost three minutes of my time you just wasted. Stop your little temper tantrum and listen, Castle, because I'm only going to offer you this once in a lifetime opportunity to get your shit together."

"Fuck you, Stark!" Frank snarled, righting himself back to his feet, determined to bring down Iron Man.

Before he knew what happened, a hand was around his throat and his body was slammed downward. The air from his lungs escaped him, leaving him a wheezing mess as he fought against the darkness that threatened to take him under.

"That's a good man. Don't pass out now, I need you awake for me." Stark's voice drifted around him.

Unfocused eyes fluttering open with a bit of struggle, Frank found the shape of the billionaire kneeling over his chest, legs spread over his torso to prevent Frank from getting up without sitting on him.

He jerked his head when twin cool palms rested over his bushy cheeks, forcing Frank's head upwards until their faces were a few inches apart, his eyes having no choice but to look directly into Stark's own.

"I ain't easy, Stark." Frank muttered, trying to glare but ultimately failing in that department since all that did was cause the older man to smile.

"Don't you worry about your virtue being taken away from this devilishly handsome fellow. Now that I have your full and undivided attention, let's get this over with."

It was cold. So cold. Like someone had stuck their hands in the melted ice chest for so long that when they touched skin it  _burned_. A sharp inhale through the mouth, gasping as if out of breath, Frank struggled. His hands immediately slammed onto Stark's sides, grabbing his wrists to push him off, kick his legs, arching his body to push the smaller man off him, but Stark was like a rock that refused to budge. His weight suddenly too heavy even when Frank had more muscle and mass than the older man hovering over him.

A shake from Stark's hands that still held his face hostage forced Frank to open his eyes.

(When had he closed them?)

When Frank looked...  _he saw_.

Somewhere, vague as the memories were, Frank remembered something. He was lying on a cot near Curtis' own, Billy was just a few bunks away, but he was there listening to Curtis read a philosophy book. Frank couldn't remember the name of the author, some German whack, but he remembered the words with sudden crystal clarity.

 _"And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”_  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Time to go,  _War_."


	3. War of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I can't sleep  
> ( ~~ _'Cause thoughts devour_~~ )

"Where have you been?"

His dark eyes that had been focused on watching the months old news coverage of the collapsed Midland Circle building eventually detached from the television screen to fall on Pepper's approaching figure as she stepped into the lounging area. From her immaculate designer white wardrobe and equally designer purse that matched her silk blouse and pencil skirt, it looked like she just came out of an important meeting. It was tedious work to do business then politics and so forth, but it kept everyone busy so that it left little room to do some down time.

Which was why Tony eyed the other woman with a small hint of bemusement. In the past, the CEO never truly stepped foot in the Avenger's facility compound, but after Tony returned from Siberia and threw himself into the Accords with little attention about the "time-out" between them, Pepper was finding more and more excuses to pay him a visit. 

In all honesty, he felt sorry for her. Whatever spark that kept Pepper Potts and Tony Stark connected despite the hardships and obstacles that flew their way died the moment he opened his eyes from inside the belly of the icy bunker. There was no point to pursue any romance with Pepper because this was only going to lead into a disastrous heartbreak when all of it was done and over with. 

He kept it professional while smiling easily, and did not budge when she saw that he was not going to even try to work things out.

And just like the incredible trooper he knew her to be, she sucked it up and never brought up the "what could have been's" to him. All that mattered was keeping the board interested, the public happy, and the nations placated. Their team was small, broken, and still licking some wounds, but Tony hadn't been sitting completely idle for the past year.

"I've been around." Tony answered lightly, rolling his shoulders.

All that got him was a  _look_ from the strawberry-haired woman.

"I've been making rounds with the Spiderling. Had to teach the kid about proper patrolling, get him used to the upgrades of his suit." Tony explained, pausing for a moment when something caught his attention on the screen then quickly returning to Pepper. "Did you know the kid and his buddy hacked the suit? I knew kids were smart these days but _wow_ , they just bulldozed through it like nothing."

"Doesn't that suit come with an Instant-Kill Mode?" Pepper's eyes widen in absolute horror. "Please tell me you didn't add that!"

"Don't worry," Tony huffed as he settled comfortably on the couch. "Kid never uses that. He actually complained to me about it. Said he wanted it removed."

There was a sigh of relief from the other side of the room.

"You here for something?" he finally asked.

"Yes, actually." Pepper replied as she made her way closer to Tony, pulling out a StarkPad and a small touch screen plastic pen from the side of the pad. "There's still a long way before the BARF program can be released to a few chosen rehab facilities, but they want a confirmation from you that they'll be the first to get their hands—"

"That doesn't sound suspiciously greedy at all." Tony snorted, rolling his eyes at the pad. "Tell them I'll get back to them in a later date."

"Tony," Pepper prepared herself for another lecture. "These facilities are willing to give your program a chance, and think of the—"

And suddenly Pepper found herself on the receiving end of those sharp eyes that cut into her like a box cutter against thin paper, making her mouth dry and tongue twist.

"I'm sorry, does your sales of the program matter more than the quality of it, Ms. Potts?"

"Tony, that's not what I was saying," Pepper backpedaled, surprised at the accusation thrown at her.

"Then it shouldn't be a problem for you to tell the facilities that they'll get a call back at some other date, would it?" 

There was a pause, both of them staring at each other with intensity. Pepper waited; she waited for those dark eyes to light up and crinkle with mirth dancing along the corner of his aged skin, she waited for the beautiful smile to bloom across his handsome face that seemed to make him appear almost a decade younger when the world was less stranger and somewhat carefree, she waited for him to crack a poor joke that hit too close to his damaged heart so that she would drop everything, call the others, and come running to Tony's aid. She waited for Tony to say  _something_. She waited for Tony to say the word so that she could help him rather than stand by whilst he continued to build a wall around himself. She waited from afar, and now she was waiting right next to him, watching the man she admired and cared for.

She waited and yet Tony had not eased off the cool demeanor he was regarding her with.

A sharp pang of hurt batted against her aching heart, awful as the day Tony had brushed by her without a word after they saw each other for the first time since their mutual break.

"I apologize." she looked away, no longer able to look at him. "I'll be sure to notify them of your decision."

It was going to be hard considering people had looked at SI as if it was an extension to the Avengers. International associates were threatening to shut down other SI factories in their countries in retaliation of the Split, thinking that it was all solely Tony's fault that Steve Rogers and the others were spitting in their faces. It was a slow and exhausting uphill battle to gain back their trust and favor, times where Pepper nearly had to beg a room full of pig-headed cruddy old men, but SI was thriving back to its feet. BARF was met with some hesitance by the public after a few showcases in their last Stark Expo, but it would eventually be accessed in public rehabs when Tony gave it the green light. 

She felt the pressure of his narrowed eyes finally remove themselves from her figure.

She stood there for a moment, looking down at the unsigned pad in her hands.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

She waited...

"You're free to go, Ms. Potts."

But Tony wasn't coming back.

He watched her leave in silence, her gait a bit slower than the pace she came in. She looked smaller, her body taut like she was trying to squeeze her arms inwards but refused to duck her head like a guilty dog. She was definitely a trooper, Tony thought sadly.

He waited for her heels to fade in the distance before he finally addressed the issue that was holed up inside the kitchen.

"I give you a generous amount of time to settle your business, and you parade around New York like a lunatic." Tony spoke out loud as he stood and signaled for FRIDAY to turn off the television. "But... I guess you did alright. You could have handled it better, but I should've known that subtlety isn't your strongest suit."

Quiet footsteps approached the open area of the kitchen until they revealed themselves.

"... Yeah?"

The older man only shrugged while popping his joints and hearing the occasional creak and crack of his body's bones. "Sure. You've got talent in causing inner turmoil from your enemy's infrastructure."

All that got him was a  _look_ from the ex-Marine.

"You're a piece of shit, Stark, you know that?" grunted Frank Castle.

"It was a compliment."

"It didn't sound like a compliment to me."

"Hungry?" Tony asked as he walked past the other man towards the fridge. "I can make a mean sandwich."

A choked off noise caused Tony's ear to perk up. Glancing backwards, he saw that Frank was now sporting a crooked smile on his normally aggressive expression, the corner of his eyes crinkled up in genuine amusement while his eyes were glazed over with whatever distant memory was playing behind his single bullet ridden skull.

Tony would admit that he was slightly curious to know the inside joke between Frank and the sandwiches but stopped himself from forming the words. Besides, they had bigger things to worry about beside poor performance issues when causing total chaos on the streets and outside nations butting each other's heads over political issues.

"So, what did you think?" he pushed the bread, ham, chicken, turkey, vegetables, and other condiments that were appropriate in preparing an epic subway sandwich for his guest.

"It was... something, you know." Frank mumbled, watching him work on the wheat bread while in a trance-like state.

Yes, he did in fact know about the astronomical-sized powers he held within his grasp. Which was why he was looking at Frank to give him an answer, but again, giving into the attitude people generally favored, he found that throwing any sarcasm at the gruff former soldier would only lead to unpleasant shouting matches.

And Tony already had enough of those almost every other day in the meeting rooms.

Thankfully, Frank saw that his short answers weren't enough to sate him so he continued with his mangled up report.

"It took awhile to get used to it." Frank muttered as he stared at his large palms. "I... uh, I sometimes forget to hold back or else people ended up  _dying_ 'cuz of it."

"Count your lucky stars they weren't innocents." Tony quipped.

Not that it mattered really if they were innocent or not. He wasn't kidding when he said that Frank was no different from the other people who waved their own guns around and killed other human beings, it was just a matter of ideology on who deserved to live and who deserved to die.

Finished with the sandwich, Tony grabbed a nearby kitchen knife and sliced the long wheat subway in half before handing one over to the quiet man sitting on the other side of the kitchen island.

"Thanks," came Frank's raspy voice.

Unbeknownst to Frank, the whole purpose of the sandwich was actually to get the larger man to stretch his limb out. The black leather sleeve of his bomber jacket rode low enough to expose pale skin, weeks spent hidden away from the public and from spending a short amount of time in the hospital with no windows, revealing what Tony had been looking for.

A red mark in the shape of a sword branded upon the soldier's skin as if he was cattle.

Frank abandoned the sandwich, pulling his burning arm back that throbbed painfully as he glared at the man still holding the subway hostage.

"Have a napkin." Tony offered politely. "Don't be messy."

The other man stayed where he was, not moving an inch as he stared down at the older male. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew Frank wanted to grab that knife off the table and stick it in his head.

"You get off on this, don't you?" the ex-Marine grumbled after a few moments of silence.

Tony only raised a single brow. Grabbing a plastic plate, he placed the sandwiches on it before carefully shoving it towards Frank, but still the murderous vigilante refused to move from his spot or look anywhere besides on Tony.

* * *

  _Frank felt like he was falling. His innards pressing against each other, gravity confusing him because he didn't know if he was falling down or up. Everything was pitch black and he couldn't see himself, not even if his hand was shoved into his face. It was an endless infinity of darkness._

_All this from looking into Stark's eyes. Were they even allowed to be called eyes? It was more like looking into a black hole._

_And suddenly as quickly as he was thrown, he was caught. Body yanked like a puppet being yanked on the end of its strings, Frank blinked and realized he could open his eyes and see._

_And God did he wish he could stitch them back closed._

_Because all he could see was how ugly and angry and selfish everyone was. He saw countries and cities destroyed under some sad excuse of a just cause, people slaughtered and driven to near extinction because of their different beliefs and ways of life, battlefields covered red with blood in the name of so-called freedom, countries invaded to be forced into long years of wars from outside and within itself._

_The cycle of war spanning from the beginning to the very timeline Frank barely existed in._

_He wanted to close his eyes, he wanted to look away, he wanted it all to stop. But his head was held up and his eyelids were rolled to the back of his head in order to force millions of years of images from the wars, battles, fights,_   _skirmishes, and grudges of long ago that lead to this moment._

_War had been forever. War had never left humanity alone. War had lived and breathed in every man and woman, in every child and elderly._

_War had seen the brutality, the sickness, and the rage of humanity._

_War lived inside Frank Castle._

_And Frank Castle was War._

_He opened his eyes to find Tony Stark staring down at him. What felt like being away for hundreds of years was only a fraction of a moment in reality. He could feel power, could sense it from all around himself now that Frank was more aware. His body felt weak and tired, and he barely pushed himself into a sitting position on the dusty floor of the building while Stark slowly backed away from him._

_"It will take awhile." Stark spoke slowly, watching him carefully._

_"... what did you do to me?" he croaked, breathless and dry like he had been walking for days in the desert (the temple had burned/she cursed the Romans/they walked 'till their feet bled across the sands—) he blinked away the memories. Not his memories._

_"Like I said, it'll take awhile. You're lucky you're only getting small doses of this, otherwise you would've fallen in a vegetative state from the overload of information forced into you. Homo Sapiens can only contain so much without it crippling their feeble minds."_

_"Who are they?" Frank demanded, glaring up at Stark despite his weak state._

_"They're you."_

_Frank exhaled heavily, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his scattered wits before looking at the other man._

_"What's that suppose to mean?"_

_"I'll give you two months." Stark suddenly turned away. "Time's up."_

_And there was a cacophony of sharp inhales, all choked and breathless. Looking away from the billionaire, Frank remembered that he hadn't been entirely left alone with Iron Man. The men who had all collapsed from a single gesture at Stark's command, all dead, jerked back to life._

_When Frank looked back, Tony Stark was no longer standing there._

_The days and weeks that followed after became an eye-opening experience for him. It felt like everything that had fallen apart around him (Agent Orange, Kandahar, Lewis, Billy, his family) slowly clicked into place. The questions were still there, but the picture that was once vague to him in the distance slowly became clearer as he understood what was happening all around him._

_And two months later, just like the asshole said, Frank went looking for Stark._

* * *

"Why would you think that?"

"I dunno," Frank snarled. "Maybe 'cuz ya got this pleased look on yer stupid face when I came here? Maybe 'cuz you've been watching me the whole time with your super computer and shit gadgets!"

Well, Frank wasn't entirely wrong. Tony had been keeping one ear open, watching the WHiH channel for several updates regarding the return of the presumed dead vigilante known as the Punisher. From screwing up FBI operations, taking down the occasional low-life that were unlucky enough to be in his radar, and seeing the guy slide over the hood of a cop car like some sort of ridiculous action hero, Frank was right to be worried that the Stark version of Big Brother was watching his every move... but not for reasons the temperamental man thought. 

"Don't to be rude. FRIDAY, say hi."

_"Mr. Stark, making nice with murderers isn't productive. Neither is taunting them."_

A feeling like mad cackling made itself known to Tony when he saw how Frank's head snapped towards the direction of the ceiling like so many had previously done upon first making contact with the young AI. Were they expecting to find a person? Someone who was living inside the walls like a cockroach?

"Call FRIDAY a shit gadget and there will be consequences." Tony informed the other man.

"Cut the shit, Stark," Frank glowered at him.

"Here, eat a sandwich. It'll make you feel better." Tony insisted at the still untouched plate left in front of the hackle-raised man.

"What do you want from me?!" Frank demanded, having enough of the easy banter.

Instead of answering, the billionaire replied with a grim smile. It wasn't that media smile most people saw on the magazines, interviews, or special events. It was like seeing a mask slowly being tipped back enough to see a small hint of whatever true face was hidden underneath. Which was strange to think considering Frank didn't know this man at all, not beyond hearing his name on the news as he flew around in the suit destroying his own weapons when people attained them illegally—or refused to hand them back.

"It's like déjà vu, isn't it?"

Frank blinked, surprised at how easy Tony seemed to catch whatever he was thinking.

"You don't know me... but there's something inside you that says it does." the older man nodded at him.

"... You said that time, when I asked you," Frank paused, unsure of how to say the words. "Those memories of the people I see in my head. You said they were me...?"

A slow nod. "I did."

Frank hesitated.

"Do you understand? Do you know now what I meant?"

For over two months, all he dreamt about besides watching his wife get killed because of him were the people. The rich and the poor, the fortunate and the sick, the scholars and the beggars, the soldiers and the citizens; all of them pulled into the violent cycle as their empires fell when time did not come to them first. It was like he was there, inhabiting a body that had a name and story which ended with a fight. There was so much anger, so much hate, so much of it that it became an aftertaste when he woke up from the cot he was sleeping in.

He was a Roman soldier who was in it for the glory, he was an angry queen from Britannia who wanted vengeance for the murder of her family, he was a believer who wanted to drive the infidels out of the holy lands, he was a teenager who could barely shoot straight with his father's musket, he was a screaming native woman who watched her tribe get slaughtered by the cruel white man, he was a Soviet sniper who faced the harsh winters of her motherland to kill any unlucky Germans who got in her crosshairs.

"These were people who wanted war. These were people who wanted to keep on fightin' and fightin' till they got taken out."

These people were like him. That are him... just like he was them.

Saying it out loud after letting it simmer in his head for months was like letting something free fall off his shoulders. It was almost as scary as admitting to Curtis and a bunch of other strangers that he was afraid of no longer being able to find war.

"Sit down," Tony ordered. "And eat your sandwich. You and I have a lot to talk about."

Frank, for once, did as he was told.


End file.
